


Symmetry

by TerrifiedAristocrat



Category: AFK Arena (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerrifiedAristocrat/pseuds/TerrifiedAristocrat
Summary: Ferael finds himself in a bind- kindness is something that isn't etched in his bones, but cruelty isn't either. Beauty is etched in his bones, the kind of beauty that gets men killed and the same kind of beauty sprawled on the forest floor, bleeding out.A choice is made, a leaf turns over.





	Symmetry

> "I know we stayed up talking in circles  
>  But I like to think the symmetry will keep me close to you," 
> 
> -Sight of the Sun, Fun. 

Grass and dying leaves whispered quietly under Ferael’s boots as he crept through the forest at dusk, shading his eyes against the sun’s slanting rays. They made his eyes water more than anything else, which annoyed Ferael to no end. An archer could not afford visual impairment, or anything that would threaten his aim. He blinked rapidly, pausing to press his back to a large tree as he waited for his vision to clear.

A strong sense of smell wasn’t vital for an archer- what was he going to do, sniff out his quarry, after all- but with his eyes temporarily out of commission, Ferael caught the unmistakable scent of blood. Fresh blood, in amounts that suggested a near-fatal wound. Ferael swallowed harshly- all graveborn liked blood, especially freshly spilled. Willingly offered blood was the best, but Ferael was not above scavenging. He lifted his mask for a moment to wipe his eyes clear of their tears as soon as he felt the heat of the sun fade, shaking his head a little. The scent was fading, and quickly. Ferael slid his mask back on and carefully padded under towering trees, loping between the shadows that clung to his form. Forests were nice in that regards- even though they were cesspools of life, for every leaf there was a shadow and for every living thing that crept and crawled across its floors there was a fresh corpse decomposing on that same floor.

If Ferael was relying on his eyes, he would have missed it.

Luckily Ferael was using his nose and his ears, noticing how the scent of blood grew stronger and now he could hear the hitching, uneven breathing of something trying desperately to cling to life. He turned in just the right way and found his quarry- a wilder warrior, sprawled inelegantly against a tree with leaves covering most of their body as to hide it. Shallow breathing disturbed the leaves minorly and as Ferael approached he noticed two rather large swords also leaning against the tree, within arms reach of whatever was lying there and dying.

“My my, what do we have here?” Ferael wondered, stopping in front of the soon-to-be corpse and scrutinizing it carefully. The wilder reached for a sword and brandished it with a weak flourish.

“Get back, fiend,” they snapped. Ferael tipped his head in a bird-like fashion, able to take in more of this person- they were dressed in nice armor that reminded Ferael for a moment of what the lord who employed him back when he was alive- that was, aside from the bloody gash-marks across the chest and legs. A pair of impressive horns sprouted from a delicately boned skull and intense green eyes glared up at Ferael. Something clicked in the back of Ferael’s head- there was a wilder swordsman who did some training under that Brutus fellow, which was a big deal as maulers and wilders didn’t seem to get along. What was his name, Ear-something...

“Fiend? How rude,” Ferael folded his arms, ever so slightly irritated by the accusation. Then again, he was attracted to the scene by the scent of blood, so perhaps the accusation had some legitimacy.  
“I have no use for niceties,” Eironn (that was the name!) snapped, brandishing his sword again. The subtle tremor in his hand made the gesture less threatening and almost comedic. Ferael didn’t laugh though, staring at the (gorgeous) eyes of this dying man in front of him and wondering what he would be like as a graveborn, what it would be like to see the life drain from those pretty eyes and the unnaturally bright green glow of undeath replace it.

Was this what the woman who found Ferael dying on a battlefield felt?

Disgust welled up in Ferael’s throat and he turned away- oddly enough he had fewer emotions while alive. Or was it that he just buried them over an obsession for perfection? After all, Ferael would no longer age. He would not grow decrepit and near-sighted, he would never lose his reflexes or the strength of his grip. He had time to feel things.

Unfortunately, all Ferael felt at the moment was disgust at himself for casting lustful eyes on a nearly dying wilder.

“Are you going to kill me?” Eironn interrupted Ferael’s train of thought, weariness creeping into his tone. “Because if you are then just... get it over with,”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ferael huffed, crouching in front of Eironn and examining his wounds. “Where is the closest place of healing?”

“There isn’t one,” Eironn snapped. “Our healers are not tied to one place, they move around,”

“Marvelous,” Ferael drawled sarcastically. “How do we get one here?”

“There’s a flare...” Eironn groped around in his belt, hissing as he pulled at an injury.

“Don’t move, you’ll hurt yourself more,” Ferael grumbled, brushing aside blood-slicked leaves to get a better look at Eironn’s belt. He spotted something flare-shaped and reached for it, making Eironn stiffen at the sudden contact. “I am not going to kill you,”

“Why?” Eironn demanded.

“If you became a graveborn you would be competition for me,” Ferael lied to Eironn’s face coolly, pulling the flare out of the belt gently. Eironn was really warm, Ferael realized, and a desire to lay on him and bask in his warmth was quickly stuffed into the back of his head. There was no time for that.

“Competition?” Eironn frowned. “Do you use swords?”

“Swords are inelegant,” Ferael replied. Eironn leveled him with a flat look.

“You are not what I would consider the definition of elegance,” he commented.

“I’m trying to help you,” Ferael pointed out, holding the flare in one hand and cupping his other hand skywards. Shadows condensed in his hand to form an arrow, on top of which Ferael placed the flare. Using stray strands of congealed shadow, Ferael tied the two together and lit the end of the flare, firing it expertly into the sky. The flare shrieked and left a trail of white-gold sparks that made Ferael’s eyes water again and he grimaced.

“I don’t know why you want to help me,” Eironn muttered.

“I’ve suddenly contracted something called altruism,” Ferael commented offhandedly, squatting back down next to Eironn. “I think it’s fatal,”

“That’s not a valid response,” Eironn pointed out.

“Well, I don’t feel like unpacking my entire tragic backstory to some swordsman I just met in the forest,” Ferael retorted, sneering the word ‘swordsman’ just in case Eironn got the idea Ferael liked him. “How long will it take for help to arrive?”

“Depends on how far away they are,” Eironn replied. “Usually if the Dusk Patrol sees this they will come and defend against scavengers,” he gave Ferael a side-eye at that, and Ferael shrugged.

“I can protect you, don’t worry your pretty little head,” Ferael assured Eironn, placing his bow in his lap.

“Ira is probably a better shot,” Eironn muttered.

“Who?” Ferael asked.

“Ira, Rogue of the Forest. She’s a part of the Dusk Patrol. Her and Lyca are excellent shots,” Eironn explained. “Or, so I’ve heard,”

“Not ringing a bell,” Ferael shook his head.

“How can you not know who they are? Lyca has a mount-”

“Oh, the bunny woman. Right, her.” Ferael’s eyes lit up with recognition. Eironn stared at him. “I’m bad at names,”

“I can see that. I am Eironn Stormsword,” Eironn introduced.

“I know that, I’ve seen you before,” Ferael waved Eironn off. Eironn looked confused.

“You just said you were bad with names,” he pointed out. “Why would you know my name?”

“I pay attention to interesting opponents,” Ferael replied easily. Eironn sat up a little, groaning with the effort. “You need to stay still or you’ll bleed more-”

“Are you... flirting with me?” Eironn demanded. Ferael paused, staring at Eironn while his brain scrambled to come up with some sort of answer. Was he?

“Is it working?” he asked finally. Safe question- if it was working, then yes. If it was not, then no. Simple as shooting.

“I do not know,” Eironn replied after a few minutes of thinking. “I believe blood loss is affecting my ability to reason,”

“It happens,” Ferael shrugged. “Rest. I will stand guard,”

“I can not rest!” Eironn complained.

“Yes you can. Just close your eyes. It’s not hard,” Ferael instructed. He was about to say more when his ears caught the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Ferael tensed, tightening his grip on his bow. “Is that a healer?”

“Doubt it,” Eironn hissed, his words slurring more than earlier. Concern pinged at Feral’s spine like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He formed an arrow and nocked it, each muscle in his arms and back tensed and ready to go at the slightest movement. Even while alive Ferael could stay in this position for a while but now that he was dead? His fingers didn’t cramp anymore, his arms didn’t give out. Ferael was ready.

Four foes poured out of the nearby shrubbery- all three lanky and slinking close to the ground, probably originally coyotes or some sort of similar creature but now twisted and mutated by contact with some unearthly malice- Hypogens, probably. Ferael shot the first one in the head, wasting no time forming three more arrows that he kept in between his fingers to fire with the practiced smoothness of breathing. Almost too quickly it was done, leaving the clearing silent aside from the gentle thrum of Ferael’s bowstring in his lap. Ferael glanced around to make sure there were no other enemies and caught Eironn watching him. No, not watching. Staring.

“Is something wrong?” Ferael asked slowly. Eironn blinked a few times and looked away quickly, shaking his head.

“No, no. I’d never. I. I take back what I said earlier,” Eironn mumbled. “You shoot good. I’m-”

“You are obviously delirious,” Ferael cut Eironn off. “Although I am a good shot. The best there is,”

“Big ego,” Eironn muttered.

“It’s what I deserve,” Ferael assured Eironn, tensing again as more footsteps approached. These were bigger, causing the ground to quake. Another arrow formed in Ferael’s hand and he nocked it in time to see the lumbering form of that one wilder fellow, with the birds... what was his name again?

“That’s Ogi,” Eironn mumbled. From behind the very large wilder another one peeked out- some kind of sheep girl with a spear. “And that’s Nemora-”

“I know,” Ferael interrupted Eironn, who continued.

“They’re medics. Don’t shoot them,” he ordered.

“I won’t,” Ferael responded with a huff as Nemora daintily approached, looking Eironn over.

“Oh dear! What happened?” she asked softly.

“Ambush. Took me by surprise,” Eironn gasped out as Nemora folded her legs under her body to get closer to Eironn’s wounds. Her hands glowed the bluish green of wilder life magic, the kind that was the antithesis of the magic powering Ferael. Usually he felt a crawling kind of discomfort, but watching the flesh knit itself over Eironn’s wounds was fascinating. “The graveborn came to help,”

“Ferael,” Ferael offered, in case Eironn was as terrible with names as he was.

“He’s a very good shot,” Eironn added sleepily as Nemora moved on to work on his leg.

“I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Nemora remarked casually, brushing the rest of the leaves off of Eironn’s body. “You don’t usually play well with others,”

“He didn’t really play as much as he laid there and bled,” Ferael pointed out.

“Yes, but he didn’t stab you,” Nemora replied sweetly. “And even though I’ve heard your interest only lies in shooting, you stuck around to keep him safe,”

“I had nothing better to do,” Ferael adjusted his mask nervously as he felt both Nemora’s and Ogi’s eyes stare at him.

“Whatever your intentions, we won’t forget this,” Nemora stood, brushing stray pieces of leaves and grass off of her legs. “Eironn will sleep for a few hours and then should be fine. If you stay in this area, the trees will shield you from the daylight sun,”

Ferael had the abrupt realization that he was expected to stay until Eironn awoke as he watched the two wilders walk into the darkness of the forest. Glancing up between the breaks of the branches and staring at the near-full moon, Ferael realized he had no real reason to leave. He had no reason to stay, yes, but he’d just gotten comfortable sitting on the forest floor, and listening to Eironn’s soft and even breathing wasn’t terrible. Ferael scooted closer to the swordsman, carefully maneuvering around one of his (obnoxious) swords until he could feel his warmth. From his new vantage point, Ferael had more tree cover which meant when the sun rose, he would be in less danger. That was obviously the only reason he’d want to get closer to the beautiful man fast asleep next to him.

Eironn woke to the sensation of sun on his eyelids, leaves under him and someone in his personal space.

His eyes snapped open and he glanced over at the figure next to him, slumped against the tree Eironn had taken shelter under the other day- that weird graveborn guy, Ferael. Most of the time his face was obscured by the oversized hood and mask combo he sported but at the moment his head was tipped back, revealing sharp features that looked surprisingly handsome in the early morning light. Ferael’s eyes had to be closed- there was no pale green light in the eyeholes of his mask- and the line of his mouth was softer than Eironn had ever seen it. Then again, Eironn’s interactions with Ferael up to this point had been short and limited. Eironn did not seek out the company of others, and neither did Ferael. Seeing him like this, though, Eironn could not deny that Ferael was beautiful much like watching a storm develop overhead. There was danger in that beauty, sparks of lightning that danced between clouds like harsh words that tumbled from Ferael’s lips.

Eironn sat up slowly, a memory flashing behind his eyelids- the smooth and steady way in which Ferael shot his arrows was as beautiful as his face, if not more so. Simple beauty meant little to Eironn- flowers were pretty, mountains and rivers too, but true beauty came in the dance between life and death. Even though Ferael was no swordsman, his skill with a bow and arrow indicated that he knew that particular dance intimately well. That was a shame, since Eironn wanted quite badly to spar with Ferael.

Perhaps some other time.

Eironn stood, leaning over and pulling his twin swords out of the ground as carefully as he could. He attached them to his belt and in a moment of impulsiveness, bent over to press a kiss on Ferael’s cheek. If asked, it was his way of thanking the graveborn for his services in protecting him. Luckily Ferael did not stir and Eironn was able to escape without noticing one of Ferael’s eyes crack open.

In the back of his head he knew, they would meet again.


End file.
